SANTA’S HELPER HELPS
Leaving Isabella in her room to prepare herself, I pull her door closed behind me.
With a bit of a wicked inner snicker, I slip down the hallway into my bedroom and shut the door. Creating a clean break from vanilla, I change out of my jeans and flannel and into my 'Secret Santa' costume. I did consider renting or even buying a real Santa costume, but I'm going for domineering, not jolly, so I cast that idea off in favor of tight black jeans and a close-fitting black cotton tee. I pull on socks and select my black leather steel-toe Doc's for an added measure of macho. I pull down the box from my closet and set what I need out on the bed.
I sink into my leather chair and replay the plan for the upcoming scene in my head. It's a taste of her A Day in the Life story, an extended scene of servitude that should keep her good and revved up for the rest of the day and focus her attention where it belongs—namely, on me.
Sure, I have a broad outline of how I think this'll go, but a lot of it has to do with how she responds to different stimuli. I'm flexible, and I'm still in the early stages of learning her body, though her mind is less of a mystery.
The muffled sound of a closing door is followed by the faint but unmistakable click of approaching stilettos squishing down into the carpet. I close my eyes, imagining Isabella in the costume I picked out, and I center myself. I stand, grab today's collar, and move quietly to my door. Hearing the telltale knee shuffle, I give her a moment to get into position. My cock is begging to see what's on the other side of that door; in fact, he's actually trying to get to the other side of the door. I reach inside my boxer briefs and straighten things out. I take three deep breaths and slowly open the door.
Fuck. Me. The reality of Isabella on her knees in this delightfully perverted Santa's Helper costume is so much better than the fantasy. My view from the top affords me a straight shot down the front, which would be perfect except for the fluffy white cotton tip of the elfin cap that weeps over in my way. Her strapless "dress"—if you can call a scrap of shimmery green material that starts at her nipples and ends at her crotch a dress—leaves her thighs completely exposed to the tops of her peppermint-stick-striped thigh highs, of which I can only glimpse the tops before they fold under her body.
Her hands are interlocked behind her head and her elbows are straight out, which makes her top even less effective, and she knows it. But her eyes, though right in line with my straining cock, remain steadfastly focused on the toes of my boots. A more eager sub I could never hope to find.
I'm dying to sneak around back to check out the rear view, but I must exercise discipline as well. I crouch down in front of her and flick the cotton tip of the hat around to her back. God, she is beautiful like this. Her sultry, deep brown hair cascades over milky white shoulder blades, chocolate sauce over vanilla ice cream. No, not vanilla. Much more exotic. Coconut. Her cheeks are flushed with desire and I can feel the heat radiating off her skin as I brush my knuckles softly down one side.
"Isabella, you can look at me."
Her gaze shifts up to mine, and need is written all over her face. From the deep pools of desire in her eyes to the soft, open circle of her mouth.
"You may have deduced that you're going to be Santa's Helper today. You must remember me? Secret Santa?"
A small smile quirks up at the corners of her mouth and it takes all my will power not to kiss her again. Damn that full lower lip for tempting me! Holding one end of a black velvet choker, I open my hand and let the length of it dangle before her. In the middle is a set of two medium-sized bells that jingle when I give them a slight shake. I'm reminded of the suspended keychain from a short time ago, each a commitment of a different sort.
"Would you like to wear my collar today, Little Elf?"
I shake my head, and she looks puzzled for a second, but then she figures me out. "Yes, Santa."
"Good girl," I nod, so proud of my smart little trainee.
As I loop the choker around the back of her neck and tie the ends together in a bow, I say, "This bell is not only merry, it will also help me keep track of you, you know, in case you wander off." As if I'd allow her to be more than three inches away today. No, not likely, now that she's come back to me.
"Your position is excellent, especially for your first time."
I can feel my deep blush at his compliment and I answer, "Thank you, Santa." Oh my God. This man makes Santa Claus fuck hot. So not fair.
He tips my chin up so my head is vertical and instructs, "Eyes down again, Little Elf. Find a spot on the floor and focus." He kisses the tip of my nose playfully and stands to his full height. And that zipper is right in front of me, so close I could almost—no, focus.
"Back straight, elbows wide." His voice looms above me, and each command sends fresh shivers down my spine. He steps behind me and brushes his fingertips along my arms, pulling slightly on the elbows.
"See how when you do that right, your dress just can't quite hold on to those nipples?" As he taunts me, he reaches over my shoulder and slips the tip of one finger just under the top of the dress, and all the way across, brushing along both nipples as he illustrates his point. And when he finishes, the fabric is sitting just below where my nipples poke lewdly over.
I am all kinds of needy here, and we've barely just begun. I have no idea how I'm going to hold myself together tonight under the onslaught of Secret Santa.
And before I can process what's happening with my chest, he's standing between my high heels with those big clunky boots, pushing my feet as far apart as he can while I scurry to balance myself. He leans down so his mouth is just outside of my right ear and says, "You remember this one, princess. I think it's your favorite. Spread."
Ungggggghhhhhh. The tiny patch of green pleather that is supposed to serve as a G-string is completely drenched, and the floss pulls at my crack. I know the bottom of the dress hides none of my ass, and he's back there checking things out. I feel the warm palm of his giant hand as it lands against my right butt cheek. Thwack! Squeeze.
"How does that feel, Little Elf? Should Santa give the other side a whack, too?"
Not sure at first whether he wants an answer, I wait. Then quickly, I respond, "Yes, Santa."
Suddenly, he takes hold of one nipple and tweaks it roughly. "Ahh!" I cry out in surprise.
"Did someone forget her manners? Let's try that again. Should Santa give the other side a whack, too?"
"Yes, please, Santa." Gawwd, making me beg in my current state.
Splat! His hand lands on the left cheek, and I do my best to hold my posture. He chuckles darkly behind me, and I worry that I might spontaneously combust. I'm pretty sure that's against the rules.
"All right, my little helper, if we keep this up, we're never going to get out of this hallway, and Santa's got some work to do. You remember how to heel, right, girl?"
"Yes, Santa," I answer immediately, kicking myself internally for writing to him how much it turns me on to crawl this way, so intimately tied to him.
"All right then. Let's get this Christmas pageantry on the road. Heel." My left hand follows his clunky right boot as if bound by invisible chains. He stops and starts a couple of times, and praises me generously when I'm not tripped up. The tinkling of the bells at my neck serve to make me feel even more his play thing.
"Up, princess," he commands, once we reach the kitchen sink. Not sure if I go to knees or feet, I stop at my knees and wait. "My fault," he says. "I haven't taught you that yet. You're doing, 'Kneel up.’ When I say, 'Up', it means feet."
Grateful for his gentle direction, I commit his orders to memory and go with, "Thank you, Santa," while I scurry to my feet without use of my hands. The slutty spikes are at least four inches, and I'm a bit wobbly at first.
He laughs and says, "You look like a newborn filly there, princess. Get your legs under you."
I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with my hands, my eyes, my legs. And I hope I won't be in trouble for it. He quickly jumps in with instruction. "If I haven't told you anything specific, your normal pose is hands clasped at the wrists behind your back, feet…spread…apart," he say, grinning broadly at my weakness, "and eyes on the floor."
After a moment's reconsideration, he amends, "No, I like your idea much better. Eyes on my cock. At all times. And if you can't see it from where you're standing, eyes on my ass instead." He smiles, so proud of himself for this devious twist on his normal rules.
I snap to the position and he hums approvingly. Though my eyes are locked on his zipper, I can feel his everywhere on me. The useless dress now hangs well below my breasts and well above my tiny G-string. The thigh highs have slipped down to my knees, and my hat is askew.
"Stay right there for me," he says, adding a grin at some passing thought. He returns moments later with his phone.
"I'd really like to take your picture, just for my phone, but I would never do that without your permission. I promise, it'll just be a head shot, with the collar and your hat in the picture. And this is just for me. Is that okay?"
I can't believe he's asking me, but I suppose this is yet another safeguard that Black Velvet insists upon. "Yes, Santa. That's fine."
He leans in suddenly to kiss me and says, "Thank you for trusting me with that." I feel all the warmth of Edward for a moment, but then he steps aside for the Dark Prince. "Smile, princess."
I try for a semblance of a smile, but it's some combination of confused and embarrassed. As he looks through the viewfinder, a slight frown forms on his lips. He snaps the picture anyway and sets down his phone.
With a theatrical tone of disappointment, he says, "You're all disheveled, Little Elf. Not at all up to workshop standards."
My breath catches as I fully understand his meaning. I know I can't break position to fix anything, and that leaves only one course of action.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, you really leave me no choice. You're going to need to ask for correction."
Oh. My. Fucking. Wet. Dream. Come. True. I'm so tempted to raise my eyes to his, but I know that would be cause for further…correction. So, keeping my eyes on that all-important bulge in his pants, I say, "Please, Santa, may I have—?"
"A spanking," he finishes, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
"A spanking?" I repeat.
"Yes, you may, and thank you for asking so sweetly. Now come over here and place your hands flat against the counter." He pulls my hips backward until my back is parallel with the floor. It's almost academic, but he flips the tiny excuse of a dress up over my back.
"Are you going to spread your legs or do I have to add two more strokes on each side?" His voice is low and threatening, but once I comply, he quickly praises me, "Much better." He smoothes his hand down my back in a gesture that is enormously comforting. He rubs his hand around the area he's about to strike and explains to me in gentle tones, "One stroke on each side for each infraction. And I know you're a proper girl raised with good manners, so I probably don't even have to remind you of this, but you need to say 'please' beforehand and 'thank you' after. Any questions before we begin?"
"One. Stockings loose and slipping below thighs."
"Please, Santa, may I have a spanking?" Saying the words out loud sends a chill down my spine while I brace myself for the blow. He steadies me with one hand on my back and swats me first on the left side, then on the right. "Thank you, Santa," I quickly add.
"Thatta girl," he murmurs covertly into my ear, before taking up his task again. "Two. Exposed nipples. Tsk, tsk, tsk. What would the little children say?" He feigns an appalled inflection.
"Please, Santa, may I have a spanking?" He slaps lower this time, almost to the junction of my leg. The surprise causes me to jump, the jingling bells at my collar ringing out the indignity of it all.
"Easy, girl," he says in a low, soothing voice, steadying me with a hand at my lower back. When he delivers the blow to the other side, I do better. "Thank you, Santa." I actually do feel grateful, I'm surprised to observe.
"You're welcome. Three. Your hat is a mess."
"Please, Santa, may I have a spanking?"
"You certainly may, and this is the last one." Before striking me again, he tugs up at the back of the G-string, pulling the floss uncomfortably between my cheeks and raising me to tiptoes on the already ridiculously high heels.
He smacks me one last time on each side, and aside from a brief sting, I feel nothing but intense arousal.
"Thank you, Santa."
"All right, Little Elf. Put yourself back together now. And lose the tiny triangle."
I slide down the slippery green thong, adjust the stockings, my hat, and dress. I'm back in position and looking for that cock I'm supposed to be focused on.
If Isabella's looking for my cock right now, she's not going to have much trouble finding it. I hadn't planned on a spanking tonight, but when I saw how adorably mussed she looked, I couldn't resist. And fuck, if it wasn't the hottest little diversion! Now the only question is whether I try to fight this boner or have my very own Little Helper do some helping.
I ponder my dilemma for all of two seconds. She's waiting over by the sink, perfect stance, following my cock from across the room. And without the sad little excuse of a covering over her bottom, I can see everything. It's all I can do not to bend her over the counter again and sink my Yule log deep into her North Hole. Patience, Santa!
I snap my fingers and gesture her over. "Look what happened to Santa while he was spanking you!" I accuse, pointing superfluously at my zipper, as if she'd be looking anywhere else. "I'm not going to be able to concentrate until this is taken care of. Back to your knees, Little Elf, and start helping Santa!"
I unbutton and unzip and slide my pants and briefs down to my ankles. I am not wasting time untying my boots right now. I'm pulled into her warm, wet mouth and I instantly feel better. I glance down and see she has her hands clasped behind her head, and while that makes for excellent training, it makes for a lousy blowjob. "Use your hands, Little Elf. Get busy. Santa's in a hurry."
I'm not actually in a hurry; I'm just suddenly impatient as hell. Isabella obliges brilliantly, increasing her suction and lavishing her tongue up and around the tip. I love that I don't need to tell her when my balls need some attention, and she draws them into her mouth and rolls them around, one at a time, while her hands slide up and down my shaft. She seems to sense when I need more, even though the silly hat prevents me from grabbing two handfuls of hair and speeding her up. She holds her ground while I pulse against her face. Gagging girls with my dick never did it for me, and believe me, it's not that I lack the necessary equipment. However, I do love the sensation of fucking a girl's face. Judging by her moaning and excitement, she seems to cherish being on the receiving end at least equally as much. The perfect give and take of dominance and submission. It really is poetic. And So. Fucking. Effective.
I burst into her mouth and she caresses and licks and nuzzles me through the whole explosion. And then afterwards, her attentions don't stop. As I come down from my dizzying high, I feel worshiped and cared for, in a way that goes above and beyond the job description.
I gaze down fondly at my new…hell, what would I call her? Submissive? Roommate? Girlfriend? Christmas gift? I don't normally risk breaking the scene this way, but fuck if I can keep it to myself. And after all, it is Christmas.
I tap her gently on the shoulder and draw her up to her feet. She immediately drops her eyes back down and links her hands behind her. Damn, she is so eager to please. Another warm wave of affection washes over me. Cupping her cheek in my palm and pulling her face to mine, I whisper, "Thank you, princess," and give her a tender kiss. Not gonna lie, I don't love the taste of my own cum, so my tongue stays out of this one. And despite where her mouth has just been, I find the kiss to be even sweeter than the earlier ones we shared.
She smiles brightly and says, "My pleasure, Santa.”